


betting against the house

by apeirophobia



Category: The Shadow Line (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Choking, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Rape Aftermath, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25979041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apeirophobia/pseuds/apeirophobia
Summary: There are only two things to do with a weapon you can't use. Lock it in a cupboard, or break it. Bob Harris decides to take the latter approach.In which Bob Harris finally gets his revenge, Jay Wratten is good at predicting things, just not everything, and above all, Ratallack will do whatever it takes to survive.
Relationships: Bob Harris/Jay Wratten/Ratallack, Ratallack/Jay Wratten
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	betting against the house

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just watched The Shadow Line and I loved it. I hope there's a bit of a fandom for it still.

“I’m not going to apologize for it, alright?” Ratallack says, and Jay is offended on principle. He knows Ratallack is exceedingly unapologetic in all things—it’s one of the things that Jay ~~finds~~ found attractive about him—it’s one of the things he’s always respected about him. But he has found that there are lines that most people won’t cross. Rape has always been one of those things that most gangsters knew better to do. It just got things messy, and it was disrespectful. Even Harvey wouldn’t stoop that low.

Jay thought that Bob Harris had _some_ limits on what he was willing to do, but Jay guesses he was wrong. It does happen, occasionally.

“I saved your life,” Ratallack says with a pinched face, and he sounds angry. Jay thinks they might have very different ideas of what constitutes "saving" someone. But then again, he did send himself to jail for two years to clear a path to his uncle's empire. Both him and Ratallack are willing to hurt themselves to further their goals--but he didn't think _this_ fell under strategic semantics. 

Jay purses his lips into a thin line and tries to put a name on Ratallack’s driving motivation. It’s not everyday that someone helps put you in the hospital, and then turns around and wants to go into business with you. “How?” He says distrustfully, and…”why?” he asks, and tries not to sound broken. His voice goes up in a slightly strangled manner--a threat of hysteria that most people would mistake for danger. Jay has always been good at spinning weaknesses into perceived strengths. Now if only he could spin his memories into something other than nightmares.

Ratallack sighs, and Jay feels like he’s missing something. Which, fair. He was drugged and all when everything went down, he feels like he might have missed a lot. Like how he got to the hospital. Or how he ended up in the back of Bob Harris' car, his uncle's former adversary's hand on the back of Jay's head. He had distantly wondered where Maurice must be--about the time Harris pressed Jay's face against the front of his dress slacks--and Jay had realized exactly where things were going. Joseph has always liked to talk down to Jay like he's slow, but Jay is fast enough when he has to be. 

“He was going to tear you up,” Ratallack says, talking low and fast, like Jay should have thought of this already, “He was going to fuck you dry and you would have been injured far worse than you were, and you have me to thank for that not being the case.” And...that’s true, Jay supposes. As much as the prospect of being hurt worse turns his stomach, Jay still isn’t convinced Ratallack did him a favor. He thinks he might have rather spent longer in the hospital, than have his…friend?…be part of one of the worst experiences of his life. Even now, Jay can feel Ratallack's hands on him, can feel the phantom ache of Ratallack inside him. He thinks of the heat of Ratallack kneeling over him, his fingers gripping Jay's hip, and his breath stutters involuntarily. 

“You didn’t have to... _choke_ me,” Jay says, and he sounds petulant even to himself, but it’s _true_ and that’s why he can’t get past it. Jay has a reputation for violence, for volatility, but he never does anything unintentionally, never does anything unnecessary. And if Ratallack wasn’t mad at him, if Jay getting hurt didn’t help Ratallack’s agenda, then it doesn’t make _sense_ and that’s worse. That’s unacceptable. Why would Ratallack hurt Jay excessively, for no reason? Why…strangle him? Jay remembers his vision swimming, Ratallack’s face blurry through his tears, as he struggled to breathe. He remembers thinking, _why are you doing this_ , somewhere between kicking his feet against the hotel sheets, and pulling at his restraints. As if the lack of proper motivation hurt the most of all. Maybe Jay just doesn’t want to admit, doesn’t want to understand and accept, that Ratallack would just as easily kill him as kiss him, and that that day Jay happened to end up on the wrong side of Ratallack’s fickleness.

Ratallack just about rolls his eyes, “Yes, Jay, I did,” he says with a defiant tightening of his jaw, and he looks so resolved that Jay almost believes him. Jay takes a step back, leaning against the desk and eyeing the exit behind Ratallack, without being obvious. It’s not that Ratallack frightens him, so much as just the prospect of being cornered makes his breath start to get thin. And isn’t it ironic, that first too much space used to give him a panic attack and now it’s a lack of space that he can’t stand. He feels like his lungs just like to seize and deny him air for any reason. He thinks, it's darkly humorous that Ratallack used to take his breath away. He doesn't know why the thought makes him want to cry.

“What do you mean?” he says, and he hates how his voice wavers. Hates how he feels like he doesn't have control of the situation at all--hates how he doesn't even have control of his own body. He’s used to knowing what people are going to answer, even when he’s the one asking questions. He’s used to knowing people’s motivations before they know them themselves. But this is all out of his element, and he finds that almost as terrifying as being hurt.

“I was _protecting_ your throat,” Ratallack says, and the _you idiot_ is implied. Jay narrows his eyes at Ratallack's vitriol. Ratallack is still acting like he did Jay a favor. And Jay, bizarre and unpredictable as people might find him, is not so unorthodox that he would ever classify “friend helped assault you” as Doing Someone a Favor. But Jay wasn't in a position to make any decisions at the time, and Jay didn't see the knife. Ratallack surmised quickly--and correctly--that Harris would be too enthralled by Ratallack's hands on Jay's throat to think about cutting it, but Harris rested the knife thoughtfully against Jay's hip, and Ratallack wasn't taking any chances.

“I was protecting you,” Ratallack elaborates with an exasperated gesture, waving his hands at Jay, “I didn’t want to do it,” he says, sounding like he hates the words as they leave his lips, being too close to the apology he promised he wouldn’t give, “But I would do it again if I had to,” and he eyes Jay in challenge. Ratallack made his decision, and he'll stand by it. No matter how much he hated it at the time, no matter how much he still hates it--how much it made him hate himself. Ratallack threw up in a back ally afterwards, hands shaking and tears in his eyes, for the five minutes he could risk falling apart. The next morning, while Jay was waking up in the hospital to unfamiliar faces and bandaged wrists, Ratallack stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror and tried to see if his eyes looked any different. Tried to see if anyone would be able to spot the brokenness he felt in his soul, like a tell in a poker game.

Jay presses the pads of his fingertips into the smooth surface of the desk, hiding his nervous ticks and trying to still the tremor in his hands. Ratallack's certainty is reassuring in a way. There is nothing Jay could have done to stop Ratallack from hurting him, nothing that he could have done to change his mind. His slurred pleas, the way he pulled against the handcuffs and brought his knees up to push Ratallack away--it was never going to persuade him. Jay didn't see the knife, but he did feel the way it trailed down his side when Harris cut his clothes off. He still would have taken the risk.

“I see,” Jay says, twisting his mouth in a way that tells Ratallack that he’s not agreeing, but he's resolved to that fact. He can't understand Ratallack's choice, even objectively, and he feels like he should. He is, after all, better when it comes to strategy than Ratallack is. Ratallack is numbers and money and odds, and Jay is people and plans and yet-to-fall dominoes twenty-seven months out. But this he doesn’t get, and it hurts his head. Jay remembers twisting in the handcuffs, trying to unsettle the weight of Harris pinning him to the bed. Remembers the way Harris' thumbs dug into the soft parts of Jay's stomach and--he remembers Ratallack undoing one of the restraints, afterward, so that when Jay gagged he didn’t throw up all over the bed. Jay leaned over the edge of the bed, heaving, while Bob Harris ran his hand through Jay's curls while he shook, and it was...awful. Paternal. It reminded Jay of his father, running his fingers through Jay's hair while he fell asleep, and that's the moment he completely fell apart. Jay let out a noise that was halfway between a sob and a scream, his arm thrown over his face to hide his tears from Harris, trying to disappear from the scrutiny.

Ratallack had dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand then, forcing himself to stay still, to not go to Jay, when he’d curled up on the bed. Ratallack has survived this long by delicately managing the balance of lust, power, and the illusion of control that men like Harris craved, and he knows that _caring_ too obviously in this moment could get Jay killed, could make everything that Ratallack has done be for nought. Ratallack watches Harris watch Jay, and doesn’t breathe. He sees the look of satisfaction on his boss’ face, the way Jay’s chest—his beautiful, bruised, bloodied chest—shudders with sobs, and feels sick. Harris grabs Jay’s face, holds his jaw roughly, the way that he would grab Ratallack's face when he was feeling agitated. It’s a move that would have gotten Harris bitten if he’d tried it any other time. Jay keeps his eyes closed, avoiding looking Harris in the eye, either out of fear or self-preservation, or possibly both. His blindfold has slipped off during the assault, working its way down around his neck to rest against the darkening skin, where bruises were starting to bloom in the shape of Ratallack's fingers. Harris tightens his grip on Jay's face, forcing him to open his eyes. Ratallack doesn't hear what Harris says to Jay then, the words too low of a whispered threat, but he can tell Harris is getting off on Jay's rare lack of composure. When Harris finally tears his eyes away from his prize, Ratallack remembers to unfurl his clenched fist, making sure that the half-crescent moons left behind will fade before Harris notices.

Jay sighs, rolling his head from side to side to crack his neck, showing off the healing bruise that's still a mottled green. It's a show of vulnerability that's really a show of strength, and a show of strength that's covering an underlying fear. Three weeks later the bruises remain, the memories remain, and the thought remains; that Ratallack saw Jay at his most vulnerable, and he's still _here_. When Ratallack showed up at Jay's office, he didn't know what to make of it at first--now he thinks he understands. It makes Jay uneasy, but also assuaged, in a way. He says, "You must really like me, don't you?", meeting Ratallack's gaze, and it's meant to be a tease almost, except for the part where he's _right--_ he's _always_ right--even though he's not sure _how_. He's arrived at the right answer, but he couldn't show his math, if pressed. Ratallack steps forward, looking caught, looking defeated but not sheepish, and weaves his fingers into a hold on Jay's jacket. Jay tries to steady his breath. He tells himself that Ratallack won't hurt him, to slow his rising panic, but he knows that's not true. 

"Harris thought I was getting attached to you," Ratallack says hollowly, and Jay can tell by the stricken look on Ratallack's face that Harris came to the right conclusion--though probably for the wrong reasons. Jay's never had anyone become fond of him before. He's never had anyone hurt him this badly before, either. Others have tried. Men in prison, who underestimated a pretty face and a famous name. They're divorced from their assumptions now, and Jay has the callused knuckles to remind him. Those men tried to break Jay, and he nearly killed them in turn. Ratallack helped Harris succeed in that goal, and Jay still hasn't killed him. Maybe he's gotten attached too.

[“You’re kind of sweet on him, aren’t you?” Bob Harris had asked, a week before, when he and Ratallack had been laying in bed. He suspects Ratallack of having a crush on Jay partly because he figures Ratallack wants the only other associate in the business who’s close to his own age, and partly because Harris gets off on the thought of others wanting what he has. And furthermore, Harris always assumes that others want what he wants. Bob has had his eye on Jay since Jay was twenty-one. Since the first time Harvey brought Jay to a meeting with him, and Harris realized that Harvey had been intentionally holding out on him. Harvey knows that Harris likes his boys young, and he had thought that if he'd kept Jay off of Harris' radar until he was an adult, then he'd have less appeal to the other man (but Jay has always had a baby face, and Harvey was wrong). Ratallack had then taken a drag on his cigarette and laughed, brushing off Harris' accusations like they're nothing. He thinks of kissing Jay in the parking garage of Joseph Bede's flower shop--thinks of their clandestine not-quite romance--and doesn't feel guilty. Jay is the first guy Ratallack has kissed primarily because he simply _wanted_ to, in nearly eight years. He reminds himself that Harris knows nothing of his loyalties--of his feelings--and his face betrays nothing. He thinks Harris' concern is merely harmless jealousy, at the time. He doesn't realize that Harris' dominating streak is far more invested in possessing Jay than in possessing Ratallack. Jay and Ratallack have the same pouty lips, the same eye color, the same distrust of the world. It never occurred to Ratallack that he was an imitation. Ratallack feels like he should have known.]

"You've got a funny way of showing it," Jay says idly, like the words don't hit Ratallack like a punch. Ratallack bites his lip and bites back the urge to apologize. 

"You hurt me," Jay says, breathless, like he's telling Ratallack a secret, like he needs to tell Ratallack this. Like Ratallack wouldn't have known by the tears that slipped from beneath Jay's blindfold--when Jay flinched beneath Ratallack's hands, and Ratallack hated himself. Possibly the worst part, Ratallack thinks, is that he knows that Jay was a virgin. He knew, from the moment that he kissed Jay in the carpark, Jay's mouth slack beneath his, like Ratallack had caught him off-guard. No one ever catches Jay off-guard, and yet Ratallack has managed it twice now.

"I stayed--I _helped_ \--because I couldn't leave you alone with him," Ratallack says, when he manages to form words out of his guilt, and the truth pains him. _Reality_ pains him; the thought of Jay, blindfolded and restrained. Ratallack looking down and wondering if his whole life be a morality tale, being haunted by the memory of him hesitating on the edge of a hotel bed, wondering if he did the right thing. The right thing at the time. Before this, Ratallack hadn't cried in ten years. Not since his first night on the streets, when he was abandoned and scared and didn't know if he would make it to the morning. Before Jay, Ratallack had never cried over another person. He doesn't want to think particularly about what that means. 

"I hurt you because I was not willing to accept the alternative," Ratallack says, trying to frame his desperation as a calculated decision--and it _was,_ in a manner of speaking, though it didn't feel that way at the time. Ratallack knows that he surprised Jay with how far he was willing to go, but Ratallack surprised himself too. He didn't know what he was capable of until blood welled up beneath Harris' knife and Ratallack realized what he was not willing to lose. When Ratallack felt Jay's blood on his fingers it made something inside him snap, and when did he get... _feelings_? And for Jay, of all people? He had to recalculate the odds, because of Jay. Before Jay, Ratallack only ever had to factor for one. Ratallack hates that he could still hear the wet sound of Jay's breath hitching over Harris whispering in his ear, and the echo of his own pulse thrumming in his throat. He hates the lingering thought--the one he keeps bothering like a wound that won't clot--that it will probably be the only time he'll ever have Jay like that. Ratallack hates _wanting_. Ratallack hates having a weakness as much as Jay hates being weak. He hates that Jay looked like a broken child, lower lip trembling and shoulders shaking from the sobs he couldn't quite hold in. Ratallack's only blessing is that he didn't have to see the accusation and betrayal in his eyes; Jay's blindfold giving Ratallack that small respite. It seems unfair, that Ratallack should take a respite when he's taken everything else from Jay, but Ratallack has never been overly invested in fairness. He thinks that it must be a lot for Jay, reconciling the fact that his first friend since secondary school put him in the hospital. And Ratallack doesn't make a habit of feeling bad for the things he's done, but Jay is causing him make an exception.

"I saved your life," Ratallack repeats, and he stares at Jay until he sees him flinch. If Jay hates him, he'll take it. It's the price he'll pay for Jay being alive. Ratallack's affection is both a blessing and a curse, and survival is a game he's always played dirty. This game--this empire--will be infinity more interesting with Jay in it, and Ratallack might regret what he did (what he _had_ to do) immensely, but he still feels he might not regret it as much as he should. He puts his hands over Jay's, his fingers tracing gently over bruised wrists, and Jay lets him. There's so much ahead of them; the future, the deal, Gatehouse. Gatehouse is going to run the underworld of London, and Ratallack and Jay are going to run circles around him. Harris might have done his best to break Jay, but so did prison, and _broken_ doesn't mean Jay isn't still dangerous.

Jay doesn't push him away. He steels himself instead and rests his head on Ratallack's shoulder. A show of affection for a person he shouldn't be able to trust, a person who hurt him...a person who cares about him. A person he knows will save his life at all costs. And what is he supposed to do? Going backwards isn't an option. Jay presses his lips to Ratallack's neck, to the same spot that Ratallack bruised on him with his ringed fingers, but it feels innocent. The only thing innocent about Jay is his touch. There's an irony in Jay caring for anyone, let alone the boy who hurt him. It's only compounded by the irony of Ratallack falling for the one guy who doesn't want him for sex, and thus the one man that Ratallack can't control.

Jay turns his head, his breath sending warm puffs against Ratallack's neck, and says, "At the hospital," and pauses, like it takes all of his effort to seem unaffected, "They asked me if I was being hurt by someone close to me," he says, and there's the slightest edge of hysteria to his tone, like he could almost laugh.

"What did you tell them?" Ratallack says, leaning back so he can look Jay in the eye. Jay's pulse flutters under his thumb, half in a rush at having Ratallack's attention and half in terror at having Ratallack's hands on him. Jay, as a conscious person, likes Ratallack. Before all this, before Harris, Jay liked Ratallack's touch. But Jay's body remembers, and intrinsically recalls things he wishes he could forget. It'll take a while for the instinctual fear, of what Jay's body tells him is the enemy, to fade. He's not sure it ever will, entirely.

"You know I don't talk to the police," Jay says softly, like a promise. Jay looks up at Ratallack through his eyelashes and Ratallack feels like he's being played. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe he doesn't care.

"It won't be either of us in the back of a cab in twenty years," Jay says, firmer now, and it's not a question. It's Jay trusting Ratallack after everything. It's Jay playing the game and setting the terms. It's Jay deciding that he still would rather play the game with Ratallack than with anyone else. 

"It won't," Ratallack promises, and he thinks, _if either of us ends up there, I'll off us myself_ , before he kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3 If you liked it, please leaves kudos and a comment! Come say hi at 'gonnabreakhisheart' on tumblr if you'd like to be friends <3


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